365
by ariex04
Summary: The year that never was, and how it might have been if Rose was the Master.


_Day 160_

She's waiting for him outside the prison, silhouetted by the sunset, tapping a drumbeat out on her leg.

"Nice try, Doctor," she says. She smiles as her eyes drift over the prisoners surrounding him. The prisoners' silence is absolute. He wonders if they're breathing.

He catches movement in the corner of his eye and spins to see a woman sprinting for the fence, tripping over the too-long orange jumpsuit as she staggers on. The sleeves hang over her hands, flapping back and forth in the wind.

The guards surrounding the Master raise their guns. She waves a careless hand to stop them.

The woman stumbles, falling to the ground. She shoves herself up again and staggers on. He watches as her hands clutch at the holes in the fence, as she hoists herself off the ground. The fence shakes beneath her weight.

"Prime Minister-" one of the soldiers protests. One of his fellows, a bit wiser, stomps on his foot.

The woman swings a foot over the top of the fence. The Master raises a hand. The light surrounding her is no longer sunlight.

The woman explodes, molten gold pouring away from her. It looks almost like regeneration. He watches as the light twirls away into dust, whispers that curl in on themselves and disappear. There is no trace left behind.

The Master turns back to the Doctor and the people surrounding him. The irony, he knows, pleases her: he led them out of prison to face execution.

"Kneel," she says. They do.

The Doctor stands still, hands jammed into his pockets. He can hear his heartbeat in his ear. "Let them go. They wouldn't have done anything if it wasn't for me."

"Nice try, Doctor."

Every person kneeling around him begins to shine.

"No," he says. "No!"

The light hits him with a physical force. They burn, and he burns with them. His instinct is to close his eyes; he forces them open again and watches every moment. They shrivel to dust before his eyes.

He crouches and rests his hand in the bent grass where a foot rested. As he watches, the grass springs up again, until even that last trace is gone.

"You didn't need to do that," he snaps. "You could have let them live."

She laughs. "What would be the fun of that?" He looks up at her and winces at the light, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. The soldiers have backed away from her. "Now, Doctor, I think you know what happens next here."

"Do I?" he inquires, standing. He lowers his hand and forces himself to meet her eyes.

The Bad Wolf looks back at him. "Run, Doctor." She smiles. "Run for your life."

He does.

_Day 31_

He wakes up to Jack shaking him and saying, "Doctor."

"Mmm?" He blinks up at him. "What, Jack?"

"Doctor," Jack says. "We're in the warehouse."

"Of course we're in the warehouse." The Doctor sits up and looks around. Warehouse, just as usual. Surrounded by gray concrete, windows along one wall, the ratty brown couch with stuffing sticking out of a corner. "Where else would we be?" He thinks, with a pang, about the TARDIS. He still doesn't know where the Master's keeping her.

"I think you're the one forgetting things, Doctor," Jack says. "We're in the warehouse. Think about that for a minute."

He does, frowning. For a long minute, he comes up absolutely blank. Then he gets it. "What?"

"Exactly."

"What?"

"The ceiling is a foot lower than it used to be and the couch is the wrong shade of brown. Guess the Master's memory of this place isn't the best."

"What."

"There's more. You might want to look outside."

He pulls himself up and walks across the warehouse. It's narrower than it used to be, he notices. He looks out the window.

London looks almost exactly the same as it did two days ago.

"_What._"

"Pretty much," Jack says, looking at the skyline. It's almost right, but that building is two floors taller than it ought to be and the one next to it was brick, not marble.

"Jack." The Doctor looks over at the other man. "London was blown to bits yesterday."

"Yup," Jack agrees, hands in his pockets. "Apparently our Prime Minister doesn't appreciate her city being bombed. Perk of living under an omniscient all-powerful dictator. Who knew there are perks to this sort of thing?"

"Right," the Doctor says after a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck.

_Day -1_

When he walks into the warehouse, the Master is waiting.

"Master," the Doctor says after a moment, raising his voice as loud as he can without making the Master suspicious. Outside, the rustles and murmurs of Martha and Jack go abruptly silent.

She smiles. "Hello, Doctor. Martha, Jack," she calls, stepping forward, "Make yourself scarce for a few minutes, will you? I need a word with the Doctor."

"Do as she says," the Doctor shouts. When the scrape of shoes against pavement fades, he says, "What do you want?"

"Lots of things," the Master says, flopping down into a chair. She leans back, propping her feet up on the table, and looks over at where the Doctor stands. "At the moment I'm craving chips. Odd things, taste buds, don't you think?"

"Enough games, Master."

"Spoilsport." She stands and walks over, pausing several feel in front of the Doctor, inspecting him. After a moment, she smiles. "You know how this works, Doctor. Play along."

"It doesn't have to be that way, Master." He meets her eyes. "They're gone- all of them. We're the last ones."

"Gallifrey burned. I know. I saw it."

"What do you mean?"

"I see it happening, right now," the Master continues. "You pressed a button, and Gallifrey burned."

"You know, then," the Doctor says urgently, stepping forward. She is inches away from him now. "We're the only two left. All we've got is each other. Master, please, whatever you're trying to do here, stop it. We could leave this planet, travel across the stars. Anywhere you'd like. But not here."

She doesn't step back. "I never chose the Earth, Doctor, you chose it for me. But if we travel together, we do it on my terms, not yours."

"You know I can't do that," the Doctor says, voice low, because no matter how much he- it doesn't matter, because he knows the sorts of terms she wants, the rules she lives by, and he won't, not even for her.

She smiles. "Oh, I think you could. We could be wonderful, Doctor, and more than that- we could be gods. We could do anything."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, how about- bring back Gallifrey."

"Impossible."

She smiles. "Nothing's impossible for me. Not anymore." For an instance, her eyes shine golden.

"No," the Doctor breathes.

"Oh, yes. Poor Doctor, so concerned of where I would _take_ the TARDIS. Never even occurred to you that I could open up the heart of it, did it?" She grins, baring her teeth. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to watch out for the big, bad wolf?"

"What are you going to do with it?" He can hear his voice shake.

Her grin widens. "I've no idea. Anything I'd like. Life, death, the universe itself- all of it's my playground now. Exciting, isn't it?"

He doesn't respond. He can't.

"No?" she says. "Think about it, Doctor. We could be gods. Remake the world in our image."

"Think I like the world like it is, thanks," the Doctor says, jamming his hands into his pockets.

The Master shrugs. "Have it your way." She turns, pushing open the doors of the warehouse.

"What, is that it?" he calls after her.

"Is there something I forgot?" she asks, turning back. She smiles at him. "I expect I'll be seeing you, Doctor."

"Yes," he murmurs as the doors clang shut behind her. "Yes, I expect you will."

_Day 320_

Jack teleports directly into the warehouse he'd ducked into to get away from the witch hunters.

"Doctor," he says, saluting.

The Doctor looks at him and says, "She told you to bring me in, didn't she?"

"Yes," Jack says. "I'm sorry."

"She say how long she'll keep me there this time?"

"No, but she didn't give a reason for pulling you in like she usually does. Any big plans you've been trying to spoil?"

"No," the Doctor says, "Not recently. So I may be going in to stay this time?"

"Could be," Jack says. He doesn't meet the Doctor's eyes. "Do you need to stay free?"

The Doctor considers it. "I can distract her just as well from prison, I suppose. Why did she send you, anyway?"

Jack shrugs. There's a cut on his arm, the Doctor notices. It's not healing.

"She did it, then," he says. It's hard to look at Jack, suddenly, though he is no longer _wrong_. "Like she said she would. Made you mortal again."

"Yeah," Jack says, fingers coming up to hover over the cut. His voice is wondering. "It's- weird. Different. She says she can make me immortal again if I ever change my mind."

The Doctor nods. He considers Jack for a moment, his distant expression.

It was his suggestion, Jack accepting the Master's offer. Our man on the inside, he'd said. Someone to win her trust, he'd said. Just in case things go wrong, he'd said.

He'd seen the look on Jack's face when the Master made the offer.

"Well. Best be off, then," the Doctor says. "She doesn't like to be left waiting."

Jack nods and holds out the arm with the wristband on it. The Doctor grabs on, and Jack presses the button.

With a jerk, they're tumbling, flying, falling, time roaring and shrieking around them, deafening-

They stumble out of the vortex and find themselves two feet away from the Prime Minister's office.

The Master's secretary doesn't even blink. He presses the button on the intercom system and says, "Harkness and the Doctor to see you, ma'am."

"Send them in."

The Master sits, feet propped up on her desk, waiting, when they walk into her office. "Hello, Doctor," she says. "I'm impressed, Jack- no restraints or anything." Her gaze sharpens, turn calculating for an instant, before she's smiling pleasantly once more. "Nice job, Jack."

He nods, salutes and says, "Ma'am."

"I've told you, don't salute," the Master says, tapping idly on the edge of the desk.

Jack nods, shoots the Doctor a regretful glance, and slips outside, door banging shut loudly in the silence.

The Doctor waits, standing in front of the Master's desk with his hands in his pockets.

She doesn't look at him. She's watching her fingers tap: one two three four, one two three four, one two three four.

"Can you hear it?" she asks abruptly, hand stilling as she looks up at him.

"No," he says, which is mostly true. He's integrated himself deeply enough into the Archangel network that he can hear the beat she encoded in it, the rhythm that keeps some of the population controlled, but he doesn't hear what she hears.

"Listen, then," she says. She stands and walks around the desk, reaches out and catches hold of his hands. She brings them to her face.

He rests his fingertips on her temples, closes his eyes, and looks into her mind.

The time vortex is singing through her head, ringing through his own with its force. He jerks his hands away automatically before taking a deep breath, touching her again, and slipping inside her head.

It's less shocking now that he's prepared, but still deafening, overwhelming. Like this, he can see space and time, the ripples and the weave and the vortex itself. Everything that was, that is, that could be-

He can see the whole of it, every bit of the heart of the TARDIS in her head, and he can't resist trying even when he know he can't succeed- he catches at it and _tugs_.

She yanks back instantly, strikes at his mind, and for an instant there the Doctor fights a silent, wordless struggle for dominance of the power in her head. He loses almost immediately and stumbles backward, hands falling from her face, breaking the connection.

They stand there, looking at each other, breathing fast, for a long moment.

"Nice try," she says. "But you know you'll never be able to pull it out of me by force, not with the level of telepathy you've got now. And just so you're aware- I've had it in me for about two years now. I think you know what that means, how deeply it's permeated."

"How much you've poisoned yourself, you mean," the Doctor snaps.

She shrugs. "If you'd like to think of it like that. Either way- pulling it out of me now would kill me. Really kill me, not just make me regenerate."

"I know," he says. He's been trying to forget it for 320 days.

"Good." She smiles. "Now that we've sorted that out, are you going to play nice? Listen." She brings his hands back up to her temples.

He listens, and he hears.

It's _real_. He can hear it, thudding away, one two three four, in her head, the endless, ever-present sound of the drums.

More than the drums. His hearts are pounding in his ear, one two three four, one two three four, and if he listens closely enough he can hear her hearts, one two three four, four hearts beating in rhythm, perfectly in time with the sound of the drums-

He snaps the connection, stepping back and jerking his hands away. "It's _real_."

"You heard it," she whispers. "You heard it."

"What is it?" He stares at her. "What's inside your head?"

"I wish I knew."

_Day 1_

Martha looks at him and says, "That's it, then. The perception filter failed. What now? How do we fight someone who knows every move we make before we know we're going to do it?"

"No, see, you're confusing two very different things, Martha," he says, leaning forward. He braces his hands on his knees. "You're mixing up the ability to see all of time and space with _knowing_ all of time and space. Sure, the Master could see every move we make- if she looks for it. She has to _look_."

"But she's got to be looking, Doctor," Jack says. "She knows we're not going to just let her do this, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she's looking," he says, and makes himself look at Martha. "At me. Not at you."

_Day 300_

He's died many times before, but never like this.

At any rate it's unique, the tiny part of his brain that's not busy screaming with pain thinks distantly. Burning at the stake, that's a first. Fucking witch hunters.

It hurts it hurts it hurts_so much._ He screams so loudly it rips at his throat, already choked by the smoke, and it doesn't do anything but he can't stop. The flames crackle hungrily, reaching for him, and he struggles, trying to pull loose of the ropes, as if there's anywhere to go but fire.

He wishes he would die already so that it would just _end_, it hurts to breathe hurts to move hurts to think-

It stops. He crumples, falling to the ground. He crashes against the pavement, cold as if there had never been a fire there, and presses his cheek against the gritty ground, struggling to erase the memory of _heat_. He closes his eyes and breathes, in and out, in and out, unable to force himself to his feet, unable to make himself care what's happening.

The light sears through his eyelids, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know what's happening, to know who found him. He stays exactly as he is and listens to the screams.

After a moment, the light fades, and everything is silent. Then footsteps, the scrape of gravel, right by his head.

"You're all right," the voice he's come to know so well says. A hand settles on the back of his neck.

He inhales and exhales once before he forces himself to open his eyes and get up. "I'm fine," he says. "I'm always fine."

"Sure you are," the Master says, but she retreats, removing her hand and standing up. The light still hovers around her, shines through her and within her.

He walks away. He doesn't turn around when she calls after him. He knows that if he doesn't go now, he will do something he'll regret later. (Or, even worse, he won't even regret it.)

Either way, he can't stay and find out what.

_Day 365_

"Martha, Martha, Martha," the Master sighs, looking down at the kneeling woman. "What did you hope to accomplish, anyway? Risking your life for a gun?" She looks up at Jack, standing behind Martha, face blank. "The gun?"

"Destroyed."

One minute.

The Master inspects Martha, fingers tapping on her leg. "You're trying my patience, Martha. I let you go. You were lucky, very lucky, and I was generous. I won't be this time. Bow your head."

Martha grins as she does.

"Something funny?" the Master inquires. "Do share with the class."

"You," Martha says, looking up at the Master. "You actually believed it. You're supposed to be omniscient and you believed that there was a gun."

"I told you, didn't I, Martha?" the Doctor interjects. "She can't see anything she's not looking for."

The Master wheels on him. "What have you done?" she demands, eyes shining golden. She's looking _now_, he can tell, but it doesn't matter anymore. Twenty seconds.

"I told a story," Martha says, grinning at him. "A story about the Doctor. And I gave them an instruction. I told them that if everyone thinks of one word, at the same time-"

"Nothing!" the Master insists. "Nothing can happen."

Five seconds.

"I think you've forgotten," the Doctor says. Three. "About the Archangel Network."

Two.

"No," she says, and raises a hand, eyes glowing. "No!"

One.

"Too late," he says, as Martha whispers, "Doctor. Doctor."

Then-

He can hear it, all of it. Fifteen satellites, all with telepathy fields, all his now. He can hear Martha, Jack, everyone in Downing Street, everyone in England, in the world, every mind connected to his own, he is all of them at once.

And he can hear the Master.

It's easy now, so easy. He sees the time vortex inside of her-

and _pulls_.

"No!" she screams. The whole room shines with the time vortex, pouring out of her eyes. "It'll kill me," she gasps, looking at him. "You-"

"Nobody's dying today," the Doctor says, and he inhales the time vortex, takes it into himself.

And _oh_, but he can see everything, the vortex itself swirling around him, and he at the heart of it all. He can see the future, he can _make_ the future, he can do anything he likes, bring back Gallifrey-

If he brings back Gallifrey, he will never be able to release the power. If he uses this power for anything more than what he has always planned, it will destroy him, and he knows it. He _sees_ it, with the time vortex all around him, sees the monster he could become, and thinks _no_.

He closes his eyes and finds this moment, this very instant, in the weave, and he unravels it. Time whirls backwards at his command, every dreadful thing that happened this year erased, until he is standing right back where they started, the day the world (didn't) end.

_Day 1_

It's done. He, Martha, and Jack are standing in a circle around the Master, who, this time, is on the floor. Her breathing is shallow, ragged. She is dying.

He doesn't know if this is the right thing to do. She is a killer, insane, rewriting the world on a whim, and yet-

He heals her. Pours the life back into her, takes every cell in her body and rejuvenates it, helps both hearts to beat the way they ought to, one two three four. He restores her regenerations.

She is alive, and he is not alone.

Only one more thing to do left. "Jack," he says. "Immortality. Do you want it or not?"

It's a big choice to make in the span of several seconds. Jack freezes for an instant, and then blurts out, "No."

He makes Jack mortal. And now-

He hesitates for a moment, Gallifrey turning in the edge of his vision, but he exhales and lets go of the time vortex before he can change his mind.

"It's done," he says.

Well, almost.

The time vortex eats away at him, the residue burning through him, and it's a matter of moments before he can feel the regeneration energy.

It burns through him, cleansing and almost painless, and he staggers, coming out of it, gazes down at his new hands.

"Hands," he announces. "I've still got them. Good. Legs, arms, ears, yes... Martha," he says abruptly, looking up at her, "Am I ginger?"

_Day 2_

"I'll see you again, mister," Martha says, walking down the ramp of the TARDIS. The doors close behind her.

"Well, that was sweet," the Master says, reclining in the seat.

"Shut up," he says, flicking a lever.

"So," the Master says. "What now?"

The Doctor shrugs. "Still working on that bit, I'm afraid."

"I think we start by leaving Martha Jones's front yard," the Master says, rolling her eyes, and hits the white bumpy button to start the engines.

Soon he'll have to install isomorphic controls, and all sorts of other fail safes to keep the Master contained.

For now, he just throws the handbrake. "Geronimo!" he shouts, and off they go.


End file.
